#SoggySapa

We had barely recovered when we were back on a bus headed to the mountains. I thought I would be going with Ruth and Jen but they were booked on a different tour. Apparently, I had booked myself on the hard walking tour...oh god! I’m going to die on a mountain!

The night bus stopped at 4am outside a hostel but they left us to sleep until 6am, how kind! 8am or even 9 is a more human waking time to get up. I looked out the window to see the beautiful sights of the mountains, covered in a blanket of rice plants all swirling around like in the Instagram photos I had seen.
Rain.
So much rain that the streets had already begun to flood. The sort of rain that gets to your socks and causes trench foot. Oh joy! I’m going to get trench foot to go along with my grazed knees and burnt face! Heavy sigh!

To make matters worse the weekend had caught up to me and I felt like death. The colour had drained from my face and I felt a virus flooding through my body.

“Time for the difficult walk!”
I managed to negotiate an easier trail due to the rain and even had an offer of being collected at lunch by bike to go back to our guide's house. Winning!

We put our welly boots on and reluctantly ambled out into the monsoon rains. I had a poncho covering me top to toe and my rice hat helped to keep the rain off my face. My tour guide was called So and I was also joined by two girls called Pricilla and Alice, they live together in Japan and only get 6 days holiday a year! #nevermovingtoJapan!

The fields were sodden as was my entire body! Somehow the water had penetrated my trusty poncho and had soaked my cardigan and top. Lucky I wasn’t sick...oh wait! Some other Vietnamese ladies followed us over the hills so we would buy stuff from them afterwards. I was grateful for my souvenir saviour as she held my hand to cross the flooded waterfalls and slippery mud tracks. At times we could almost see a view and it very nearly made the trekking worth it.

We stopped at a gushing waterfall and our guides went in to prod it with sticks to determine the likelihood of death.
Most of the time I thought I was going to die either from my cold, which I was convinced was some rare Vietnamese disease and I would die in the night, or by falling off a mountain like the buffalo that was lost that day. He made a grave error (literally) by eating too close to the edge and was swept away by the floods. So if a huge, fat cow got washed away, I didn’t have a lot of faith in my stature protecting me from a gush of water despite the few extra pounds I was carrying from eating too much in Asia. We all held each other’s hands and crossed nervously. Our wellies almost becoming fully submerged in the water.

Once we reached the place for lunch I was sure of my impending death. Luckily we had a good broth on the way that warmed my soggy bones and gave me enough strength to go on. Not enough to carry on walking though, just to go on living for another day.

As promised we were collected by bike and transported to her house in the countryside. I hopped on the back of the guides small motorbike and asked for a helmet. “I don’t have.” She said as if this was not a matter of importance.
I will surly die! I was annoyed that my last day would have been spent walking. I always imagined my death to be more exciting, a shark attack or parachuting into a crocodile infested lake but no, I will die on the back of a bike, in the rain, being swept off a mountain like the

cow.

She navigated over the bumpy roads. Roads may be giving them too much credit. It was more a series of holes in the ground with very hurty looking gravel. So I’ll either die by falling off and hitting my head on a rock or by falling off the mountain and hitting my head on a rock. Either way, I really wanted a helmet. Then I had an even worse thought! What if I don’t die but get that locked in syndrome annnnd... “we’re here!”

OH THANK GOD! I said I think in my own head, probably out loud! Their house was lovely. A big wooden house with a brick base stood alone in the middle of the mountains. Ducklings and dogs roamed freely in the grounds. Asleep in the bed of her living room were her two small boys. One was three and the other five, while they slept it was the most peace we would have whilst staying there.

The little one opened his eyes and looked mildly freaked out at the three new faces looking down at him.
“Hello!” We greeted him.
He blinked uncertainly. His brother followed and soon both boys ran to the safety of their mother only reappearing to eat some of our chips she had made for us.

It wasn’t long before they had warmed up to us though. I tickled their mucky feet and sang them songs trying to get them to join in with the song Baby Shark. They had cooked us yummy traditional food. We had a broth with noodles, spring rolls, pork and chicken with steamed cabbage.

Her husband had this weird fruit drink that tasted like whiskey. It is supposed to be good for your health soI had a few shots hoping it would burn away my cold. It seemed to work because by morning I was feeling much better.

We ended our time in Sapa with slightly better weather and amazing views. There was also much less walking so I was thrilled about that! Despite being ill and the fear of impending death at every corner I had really enjoyed my trip to Sapa.